


Oolong

by okapi



Series: Twelve Cups of Tea [5]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha Mycroft, Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Play, Blow Jobs, Come play, Cunnilingus, Daddy Kink (Very Brief), Dildos, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Double Vaginal Penetration, Dream Sex, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, F/F, Fem!John - Freeform, Fem!Sherlock, Fem!Stamford, Fem!mycroft, Genderswap, Hand Jobs, Knotting, Lactation, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Omega John, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pregnancy Kink (Very Brief), Pregnancy sex, Rimming, Sexual Positions that Probably Have Lewd & Clever Names But I Don't Know Them, Tea, Threesome - F/F/F, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-09 00:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1961190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>A casual remark leads to three dreams in Omegaverse.</i> </p><p>Genderswapped Omegaverse. Alpha females with cocks.  John-in-the-middle, no straight-up incest. The main story is four chapters and complete. The rest of the chapters are short epilogues added as the porny muse strikes. </p><p>New chapter for Halloween.</p><p>Oolong is a funny word (for a tea). Omegaverse is a funny world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction + Mycroft's Dream

“Thanks for coming over, Mike. Kitchen shelves have been sitting here for weeks. Her Majesty can’t be arsed to help. Either of them.”

John nodded to the living room. Sherlock was at the desk, flipping through a document. Mycroft hovered over her sister, hands in pockets.

“No problem,” said Mike.

_Beep!_

“Check that, please, would you?”

“Sure.” Mike picked up the phone. “Oh!” She turned the screen toward John. “Sarah Sawyer had her baby.”

“Aw. What a cutie!”

_Bang, bang, bang._ “Alright, almost done.”

“Ever think about having children, John?” asked Mike.

_Bang, bang, bang._

“Never had the burning desire. Plus, my lifestyle was never very child-friendly. Can you hold that up? Right there. Now, the only way I would even consider it is if I carried Sherlock’s.”

“Really?”

_Bang, bang, bang._

“Yeah, _the Holmes genes are the ones that need to be replicated, not mine._ Okay. That’s it. Whew! Thank you.”

Sherlock and Mycroft held each other’s gaze. Eyes darkened. Nostrils flared.

John called, “Hey, it’s a little too quiet in there! Have you two stabbed each other with icicles?”

Sherlock signed the last page with a dramatic flourish. “I always hated the Hampshire place. Won’t be sad to see it go. Or you. _Leave._ ”

“With today’s market, the sale will produce a satisfactory nest egg. For both of us.” Mycroft turned toward the kitchen. “Lovely shelves, Dr. Watson.”

“See _somebody_ appreciates domestic order!” cried John.

Sherlock narrowed her eyes at her sister. “ _Leave_ ,” she hissed.

“Dr. Watson. Dr. Stamford. _Sherlock_ ,” said Mycroft. The last was punctuated with a twirl of her umbrella.

* * *

Even before she knocked, Mycroft noted the change in the air. Her grip on the umbrella handle tightened.

_Baking. Something rich. Spice, sugar, butter. Scones? Biscuits? Buns?_

John answered the door. “Good morning! I am afraid that Sherlock’s not here, but, please come up. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Thank you. I have documents that require her signature.”

John made tea. Her hair was tied in a cotton scarf, and her shirt-sleeves were rolled. Her face and neck shone with perspiration.

_She smells delicious. Like cake._

“I’ve interrupted you,” began Mycroft.

“Just cleaning. Restoring a little domestic order. Sherlock’s actually in Belarus on a case. I’ll give her the papers when she returns.” John tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. “Or you can come back, if I’m not to be trusted.” She smiled.

Mycroft felt her _appendage_ —the one that lay dormant even under the most salacious provocation—stir.

_I am beginning to not trust myself._

Mycroft scanned the flat. To her eye, John had achieved an unprecedented state of _domestic order:_ everything was cleaned and scrubbed and polished to shine.

“Dr. Watson, may I make an observation, more of an inquiry, of a personal and, quite possibly impertinent, nature?”

“Sure. Your sister doesn’t even ask. For forgiveness or permission.”

“Living with an Alpha, even an _atypical_ one such as Sherlock, I was under the impression that you took heat suppressants.”

“Yes, military-issued ones. Why?” John looked around the flat. Her voice fell to whisper though they were alone in the room. “Mycroft, can you _smell_ me?”

“ _Yes_ ,” breathed Mycroft. _Like treacle tart._

“Oh my God,” said John, her hand going to her mouth. “I thought it was just a odd whim, the urge to tidy the flat at the crack of dawn. The sweating, the itching. Oh my God, oh my God. Mycroft!” John rose from the table. “I haven’t gone through a heat in years!” She began to pace.

The scent of a distressed Omega cut through Mycroft’s confectionary daze.

“I will arrange for you to stay at a facility. Five star. Very comfortable.”

“Okay, okay.”

_Don’t worry. There’s an Alpha here. To take care of you._

“Pack a bag. Now,” said Mycroft, rising from the table. John passed by Mycroft on her way toward the stairs, and Mycroft’s grip on her umbrella turned white.

John stopped. “I thought you were just wearing new cologne. You smelled so...” John looked at Mycroft’s neck, and that look was an adjective that Mycroft was not quite prepared to contemplate, much less express aloud.

Mycroft cleared her throat. “Not an unapt metaphor. The pheromones of an Alpha,” _a strong, powerful, capable Alpha_ , her mind supplied, “will be quite apparent to you in your state. I can call Anthea, if you would prefer a beta to escort you.” A war waged within Mycroft as to the most desired reply.

“No,” said John. The Alpha roared.

Mycroft purposefully tore her eyes from John’s jeans-clad bottom rushing up stairs. Her cock was heavy—and growing heavier with each inhalation.

_It’s definitely going to mar the line of the trousers._

“On second thought,” growled Mycroft, “I will call Anthea.” She put her mobile to her ear. “Dr. Watson! Lock the door.”

“What?”

“Lock. The. Door!”

The bedroom door shut, and metal clicked.

“I am not a complete slave to my biology, but our proximity is _affecting_ me.” Mycroft winced at the strain in her voice.

“I’ll try to reach Sherlock!” called John.

_No, no, NO!_

Mycroft dropped her phone and umbrella and raced up the stairs. She put one hand flat on the closed door.

“John!”

Drawers were being opened, a bag unzipped. The bag hit the floor.

“Mycroft, I haven’t had a heat since before the army. I am not prepared. I don’t have anything to help me, no toys. It’s getting worse.” The movement inside the bedroom ceased. The bed creaked.

A wave of Omega-scent hit Mycroft like a blow to the sternum. She leaned hard on the hand on the door. She took a handkerchief out of her pocket and shoved it down her trousers. She rubbed the cloth against herself, dampening it with pre-ejaculate and sweat. She folded it carefully and slipped it under the door.

“Take that.”

Mycroft heard steps and felt the hard slump of John’s back against the door.

“Thank you, Mycroft. Thank you,” panted John. “It tastes wonderful. It smells wonderful.”

“You’re welcome, my Dear,” said Mycroft, reeling with the images her mind supplied. She rested her forehead against the door. “Put it where you need it most.”

Mycroft heard the zip of jeans and the slight rustle of stiff fabric. “OH! That’s good. You’re brilliant.”

For a moment, the only sounds were John’s quiet moaning and Mycroft’s heavy breathing on either side of the door. The mingling fragrance of Alpha and Omega soothed both.

“Oh, oh, OH! Mycroft!”

Mycroft licked her lips, a conscious attempt to taste the orgasm in the air. “Better?” she asked.

“Yes,” said John, her tone more even. “I’m out of time, Mycroft. Have you ever...?”

“No, but at the moment, my Alpha instincts are quite voluble.”

“What are they saying?”

“Break the door to splinters. Take you, irrespective of your preference. Or your protest.”

John gasped.

The slight fear in the noise did not escape Mycroft. She coughed. “Dr. Watson, I understand that you keep a service revolver in your chamber.”

“You want me to _shoot_ you?!”

“I want you to realize that you are not without defence should my Alpha instincts trump my better judgement. Or your consent. For my part, the balance is tipping as we converse.”

“The courts wouldn’t consider it self-defence.”

“Well then the courts are _wrong_!”

“And if I unlocked the door?”

Mycroft’s cock twitched. She allowed herself the luxury of a wide, genuine smile. There was no mistaking the surrender in the words. Or the tone. The Alpha, secure in her triumph, was amiable to dalliance.

“You want to be charmed? Courted?” _Whisked to soft peaks like meringue?_

John replied, her smile audible, “I want a reason to not _shoot_ you—and to remove my clothing.”

“I would kiss your skin until my lips were dry, and then wet them between your legs.”

John hummed. “Keep talking.” Mycroft heard the soft swish of falling fabric.

“Massage and stretch and work those stalwart muscles until you were quite pliant beneath me.”

“You’re on top?” It was whisper.

_“_ Initially.” John whimpered. “Often.” John whined. “Always.” John groaned.

More fabric rustled. A metal belt buckle clinked and then scraped across the wood floor. Mycroft palmed her cock through her trousers and pants. She was hard, improbably, improbably _hard_.

The weight on the other side of the door lifted slightly. Mycroft breathed in the aroma of pure Omega heat, unobstructed, unfettered, uninhibited. The capitulation of her mind to her biology decimated her vocabulary.

“Fuck! Yes!” She slapped both hands on the door.

_She opened herself. Touched herself. And painted the door with it._

Mycroft pressed her hips and cock against the door. Her head spun, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears. The Alpha was impatient. She growled.

“You’ll be gentle? It’s been so long, Mycroft.” John panted.

Mycroft found a few words. “Gentle, so gentle, John. Care for you. Protect you. Lavish you. Your richness. Your sweetness.”

Then, Mycroft heard it: the faint click. _Like the first crack of crème brûlée against the back of a spoon._

“Mycroft...”

Mycroft stepped back from the door.

“...Break the door to splinters. And take me.”

WHAM!

Mycroft kicked the door and charged in the room, scooping up a giggling, naked John and depositing her on the bed.

She licked John’s tantalizing neck with a wide, flat tongue, savouring the Omega taste and possessively leaving behind her own Alpha essence. She trailed down John’s shoulder. John’s fingers were in her hair; her lower body curling around Mycroft’s. Mycroft moved to John’s armpits, seeking rawer, earthier scent. John’s ticklish squirming and squealing inflamed the Alpha. Mycroft rose up and pinned John’s upper body to the bed with her hand and arms and forearms. They locked eyes. John _melted_.

“ _Mycroft!_ ” she mewled.

Mycroft continued her ministrations. She licked down John’s belly and then stood by the edge of the bed. She yanked John by the legs until her hips reached the edge. John leant up on her forearms and smiled. Her eyes were blown black, and her chest heaved.

John said, “The British Government....”

“...is on her knees for you,” finished Mycroft, dropping to the floor. John spread her legs, and Mycroft lapped greedily. She pushed as deep inside John as her tongue would permit. John came against her mouth, calling her name.

_Like trifle, there are layers, and damn if I won’t devour them all._

She licked John until the Omega whimpered and curled on her side.

John watched with dazed eyes as Mycroft stood up and slowly removed her clothing. Her eyes focused suddenly when Mycroft’s cock, leaking generously, finally sprang free of its confines.

“It’s...”

“Large,” said Mycroft.

“Like...”

“A man’s?”

John nodded. “A tall man with big feet.” She scooted slowly to the centre of the bed, not taking her eyes off it.

“It’s attached to a mind,” said Mycroft gently as she crawled after her.

“It’s not your immense _mind_ that’s going to be inside me.”

“Like hell it’s not.” Mycroft kissed her. Mycroft did not stop kissing her. Not when she pumped her fingers inside John’s cunt, stretching her. John’s body hardly needed the preparation.

But her mind was another matter. Mycroft turned her attention to John’s breasts, heavy and full. She cupped them and teased the nipples with her mouth, sucking and licking. All the while, she murmured,

“John, I never shared a heat with anyone. Never wanted to. But at this moment, I want nothing more than to be inside you. To fill you. To find my release. Inside you. Your body was made for this. Your taste, your scent, your sound, your touch.” Mycroft kissed John’s mouth. “It’s like...”

“Christmas pudding?” suggested John with a giggle. She drew her legs up and spread them. Mycroft pressed her cock slowly inside, kneading the back of John’s thigh with one strong hand.

“Like Christmas itself.” John relaxed and Mycroft pushed in further. “And the pudding,” Mycroft added with nip to John’s earlobe. Completely sheathed in John’s tight, wet cunt, Mycroft groaned. John giggled and nuzzled the side of Mycroft’s neck affectionately. Then, she said in a soft voice,

“Let the Alpha off the leash.”

Mycroft roared. She pulled out and slammed back into John, pushing her half-way up the bed. With a few hard, quick thrusts, Mycroft came. With a few more, John came. The rhythm did not stop when they found their release. The fucking continued. The only concession that the Alpha allowed was Mycroft’s deep massage of John’s legs and buttocks, to help the Omega stay in position more comfortably.

John awkwardly jammed a pillow between her head and the headboard when she hit the top of the bed. Mycroft kissed her sloppily, licking her cheeks and chin and nose. The rhythm slowed.

“John!”

“Mycroft, yes!” John pushed away from the headboard, which served to ram herself down on Mycroft’s cock sharply. She arched her hips in a futile attempt to take more. She whimpered. Mycroft increased the pace of their fucking, and they came again, hungrily seeking each other’s mouth. Sweat dripped off Mycroft and mingled with John’s. The air was thick with sex.

“More, more!” pleaded John. Mycroft pistoned her hips anew, never withdrawing from John. The Alpha unchained was insatiable. So, it appeared, was the Omega.

“Such a greedy tart, this one,” said Mycroft. John nodded into Mycroft’s neck.

“So hungry, so needy. More, more, more, please. Need your cock, fucking my cunt, your heavy, thick cock. Right there, right there. Perfect.” John stroked down Mycroft’s back and gripped her buttocks, squeezing them, pulling Mycroft further into her.

“Your sweet, sweet cunt,” grunted Mycroft.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, Daddy!”

So consuming was the heat, that neither Alpha nor Omega shrunk at the outburst. On the contrary, Mycroft shoved deep inside John and pressed her lips to John’s ear, tenting the Omega with her arms.

“Daddy’s got you, princess. My angel, my sweetheart, my jewel, my precious, precious girl.” John keened and clung to Mycroft. Her body shuddered around the Alpha, who followed her with a hollow moan.

They panted into each other’s mouths.

_This is the first eye of the storm._

“Need to get clean,” said Mycroft. “New bedding,” added John, looking at the sweat-soaked sheets. “Before the next wave.” Mycroft was quick to carry John down the stairs and even quicker to place her in a hot shower. She bunched the royal blue dressing gown that was hanging on the back of the door into a tight ball and threw it down the far end of the hallway.

_Like a fly in one’s crumble. Good-bye._

The shower took longer than anticipated or than prudent. Mycroft insisted on washing John. Aroused by the deft fingers working a foamy lather along her skin, John insisted on being fingered until she came. Then, Mycroft insisted on calculating—using the few mental faculties available to her after hearing John scream her name into the hot spray of water—the most efficient and mutually comfortable way to fuck John in the limited space. Testing the calculation proved immensely satisfying to both.

John carried all the clean linen available up the stairs. She stripped the bed and re-made it. Then, Mycroft laid her down prone and began to rub her neck, shoulders, arms and hands. John purred contentedly. Mycroft sat on the edge of the bed and pulled John in to her lap, facing away from her. She massaged John’s shoulders and then moved southward.

John grunted. Then, she stood up and reached back to align herself atop Mycroft’s cock. She sank down on it.

“Better,” she said with a grin. “Please continue.”

“Minx,” teased Mycroft with a playful bite to John’s throat. Mycroft pushed up into John, steadying her with hands on her hips. “This is the beginning. Your body will undergo a lot of strain, especially here.” Mycroft pressed her fingers deep into John’s lower back.

“Even more when I’m carrying your child,” said John. Then, she turned and looked over her shoulder.

_Oh, my delicious, delectable, positively ambrosial girl. Do you even understand what you’re saying?_

But the Alpha brokered no objection. Or hesitancy.

“Yes,” said Mycroft. “When you’re heavy”— _round, plump, gloriously filled with sweetness and joy_ —“with my child.” Mycroft drew a protective arm across John’s chest and another across her hips. John snuggled back into the embrace and squeezed Mycroft’s cock inside her.

“Ready for the knot?” whispered Mycroft.

“Hardly,” said Sherlock from the doorway.


	2. Sherlock's dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am astounded at the positive reaction to this story. Really. It's like I'm puttering in my word garden one day and half the neighbourhood shows up unexpectedly and then the Prize committee comes by and plants a big blue ribbon on my watermelon. 
> 
> That is to say, thank you for reading!

_Like I solved the Crime of the Century._

_That’s how she’s looking at me._

John’s face lit up. She abandoned Mycroft and flew into Sherlock’s open arms. Sherlock lifted John off the ground and spun her a half-turn so that Sherlock’s back was to Mycroft. Then, Sherlock closed her eyes and held John tight, one hand draped down her back, the other cradling her head. She set John down on her tiptoes. Sherlock’s mind raced.

_Nothing..._

_...Not my name in the papers—above the fold..._

_The way she smells._ Sherlock nuzzled behind John’s ear.

_...Not accolades from heads of state..._

_The way she tastes._ Sherlock’s tongue grazed John’s neck.

_...Not teary words, hearty handshakes, tokens of gratitude, or hefty fees paid..._

_The way she feels._ Sherlock squeezed the Omega closer. _Soft and warm._

_...Not stimulants..._

_The way she looks._ Sherlock drew away to survey John’s nude form. _Flush and plump and ripe-for-picking. Like a dusty cold case file._

_...Not opiates..._

_The way she sounds._ Sherlock gripped John’s buttocks, and the Omega sighed. Sherlock grunted in reply.

_...is as good as this._

They looked into each others’ eyes. Sherlock saw the storm cloud on the horizon.

“Sherlock...”

Sherlock interrupted her. “You went into heat. And Mycroft was here.” John nodded.

Sherlock turned to Mycroft. The phrase “shooting daggers” is inadequate for two women who collectively know forty-three ways to murder someone with shoelaces.

_You will not murder me. I will murder you. Yes, I will. Yes, I will. Yes. I. Will!_

“It was good, Sherlock. She was good.” Sherlock strode into the bedroom and draped her wrinkled blue dressing gown on the bed beside her sister, like the accusation it was.

_Like a big, fat, sloppy, cake-crumby fingerprint in the soap._

“I am sure that she was _serviceable_ ,” said Sherlock to John. Then, she fixed cold eyes on her sister. “But now your services are no longer needed. _Leave_. Perhaps Mr. Hudson has a pastry you can fondle on your way out.”

Mycroft stood up. With a tilt of her head, the Alphas were nose to nose.

“If you hadn’t been so truant with your formal education, you would know that death is the only avenue by which a true Alpha would abandon an Omega with whom she has initiated a heat.”

“That can be arranged,” said Sherlock, moving toward John’s desk drawer.

“No shooting!” cried John, slipping between the two Alphas. “I shan’t have my heat disturbed by fratricide!”

“Sororicide,” they corrected. Then, they looked at each other and frowned. When Sherlock looked back at John, the storm cloud had returned and it was directed at _her_.

_But John!_

John growled. The Omega’s pheromones cracked in the air like a whip.

Sherlock gave John a sheepish look. Then, she huffed. “Very well.” She removed a dressing gown—that of John's lumpy oatmeal collection—from the wardrobe and tossed it at Mycroft.

_Cover. It. Up._

“Sit and watch. What you, Sister Dear, fail to realize is that though I am not the perfect specimen of an Alpha, I am, in fact, the perfect specimen of an Alpha _for her_. Prepare yourself for a formal education in satisfying John Watson.”

“Sherlock...,” protested John.

Mycroft snarled. “Sherlock...”

John turned to Mycroft and put one hand on the centre of her chest. “Mycroft, please.”

_Ha!_

It was Mycroft’s turn to huff. “Very well.” She grimaced at the dressing gown. John took the garment and rubbed against her body. She handed it back to Mycroft. “Better?” Mycroft nodded and donned it. She stretched herself along the top of the bed.

_Finally._

“Now let’s see if you can smell a little bit less like over-boiled cabbage,” said Sherlock.

_Need to get her scent off you. Immediately. My Omega. Mine, mine, mine._

Sherlock draped her blue dressing gown around John’s shoulders. John sat in the middle of the bed on her knees. Sherlock removed her coat and scarf and hung them in the wardrobe. Then, she sat on the bed and pressed a tender kiss to John’s lips.

“How do I smell?” asked John, rubbing the dressing gown to her cheek.

“Like a locked room murder.” _That is to say, elegant, august, irresistible. Perfect._

John blushed. “You taste like tea,” she countered.

“Blue Himalaya.” Kiss. “Nepalese.” Kiss. “Oolong.” Kiss.

“That’s a funny word, Sherlock. Oolong.” Kiss.

“This is a funny world, John.” Kiss.

John hummed. “How was Belarus?” Sherlock trailed kisses down the left side of John’s neck. She pushed the dressing gown off the shoulder. “Open and shut domestic. Not worth my time.” Sherlock licked the scar, exploring the whorls and ridges with her lips. _I could fill a whole case wall with what I know about this square of flesh._ “Certainly not worth missing this.”

Sherlock took John’s nipple in her mouth. She sucked and licked gently. When John began squirming, she flicked the bud hard and quick with the tip of her tongue. John gave a soft cry. She writhed. Sherlock put a hand to John’s damp cunt and guided two, then, three of her fingers inside.

_Godzilla Knob opened you up, didn’t she? Damn her!_

“Your text arrived when I was en route,” said Sherlock. _That is to say, thank you. Missing this would’ve broken me; don’t you see that, John? You're my Omega._  

Sherlock nosed the swell of John’s breast and dotted it with kitten licks. John carded her fingers through Sherlock's hair and began to rub her scalp. Sherlock purred.

“How did you get here so quickly? _Oh, Christ, Sherlock_.” Sherlock grazed a nipple with her teeth. Her fingers continued to thrust inside John. Her hand was soaked to the wrist.

“Motorbike,” answered Sherlock into John’s cleavage.

John froze. Sherlock stopped and raised her head. “The police have more, John, a whole pool of them.”

“Ha, ha, HA! _Sherlock_.” It was a part laugh-part sigh. All love. Sherlock wanted to line her coat with it. She felt the flutter around her fingers.

_I want my cock inside you when you laugh. Also, I will save all my felony confessions for your heat, when you find them amusing._

“Ahem.” Both women turned to look at Mycroft. She made an impatient gesture.

“It’s conversation. Don’t be alarmed. Has to do with intimacy,” quipped Sherlock. She nuzzled John’s shoulder while John petted her hair. _You taught me that, John. Taught me so many things. My Omega. Mine, mine, mine._

“Intimacy doesn’t alarm me,” retorted Mycroft.

_“How would you know?”_ Sherlock imitated her sister's voice.

“Sherlock,” whined John. She curled her arms around Sherlock’s neck.

_I’m here._

Sherlock detected the thickening miasma of pheromones.

_I could hide in this fog and disembowel Whitechapel prostitutes. Undetected. For the rest of history._

_If I were so inclined. Which I am not, of course. John._

John ran a hand down the front of Sherlock’s skirt. “The second wave, it’s coming.”

_Yes, it is. Oh, John. Two murders make a serial killing. Three is better, of course. With a cooling off period in between. But two, two is a start. Let’s start._

Sherlock stood up and unzipped her skirt. John leaned forward and slipped a hand inside. Sherlock’s cock quivered at her touch.

“What is going on here?” asked John. Her fingers examined the lace and silk and ribbon.

“This is not quite the homecoming seduction I envisioned, but I did envision one. Give me a quick taste and I’ll show you.” _Please._

John put her hand between her legs and then brushed Sherlock’s lips with a wet thumb. Sherlock cleaned the digit and then her own lips as she unbuttoned and unzipped. In moments, blouse and skirt fell to the floor.

“ _Holy Mary!_ ” breathed John.

Sherlock was wrapped in champagne-coloured lace with black embroidered flowers. Black ribbons criss-crossed her cleavage and her lower back. Suspenders and stockings and a front panel with a silk-hemmed triangle-window to showcase a long, lean cock, erect and seeping and straining against delicate knickers.

“You look like a female arsonist.”

_Rare. Lethal. Incendiary._

“ _John_ ,” rumbled Sherlock.

“You mad, gorgeous beast, I need to be fucked. Now.” Sherlock slipped out of her knickers and shoes. John moved to the edge of the bed and splayed her legs. Sherlock sank her cock into her.

Both groaned.

Sherlock pumped in and out of John. John rolled her head. Sherlock’s increased her rhythm. Soon, their body slapped with obscene squelching. The bed lurched and creaked.

“Sherlock, do you know...?” John panted.

“Yes.”

“Your cock. It has a slight bend...”

“To the left.”

“Oh, Christ. It hits a spot. Every time, you go deep. Like that. Like _that_.”

“Like this?”

“Mmm. Sinister.”

Sherlock laughed. “From the Latin. To the left.”

“Give it to me, give it to me, Sherlock. Give me that sinister cock. Beautifully wicked, wickedly beautiful Alpha. Right there, right there, Christ!” John dug her fingers into Sherlock’s arse. “Oh, oh, OH!” John came, clutching Sherlock inside and out. Sherlock followed. They kissed, but Sherlock did not stop her pumping.

“John, I am going to fuck you ‘til there’s nothing left of you.”

John chuckled. Sherlock groaned at the ripple that flowed through both them. “Like the Acid Bath Murderer,” Sherlock added. They kissed, and John whispered weakly into her mouth, “Sodium hydroxide works better than sulphuric acid.”

Sherlock slammed into her, roaring. _That she even knows that. Perfect._

“JOHN!”

She collapsed on top of the Omega.

_I love you. All that I think or do or earn or achieve is laid at your ..._ Sherlock looked down and shrugged _...hairy feet._

_My Omega._

Sherlock eased down John’s body, kissing and sucking and biting until she was openly, greedily, unabashedly, lapping John’s entire expanse from clit to arse. John moaned and squirmed. She held Sherlock's head steady. “Please, Sherlock, tongue-fuck me.” John came with Sherlock’s name on her lips; Sherlock came with their shared taste on hers.

Sherlock stood up and pressed a kiss to the back of each of John’s knees and hooked them around her shoulders, lifting her lower half off of the bed. “Whoa!” John exclaimed nervously. “I’m not made to bend this way!”

Sherlock gave John’s legs a reassuring squeeze. “Nonsense.” _She limbered you up, too. Damn, damn her!_ Sherlock positioned her cock carefully and thrust inside John anew, making minute shifts of John’s legs and her own hips until she found the angle that made John claw the duvet frantically.

“Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock!” Sherlock rubbed John’s leg against her cheek. “How does it feel, John?”

John gulped for air. “Like drowning. Like a Bride in the Bath.”

“JOHN!” Sherlock slammed into her. _She’s perfect. Perfect for me._

Sherlock stilled. She lowered John’s legs and slid beside her, trembling. John cocooned Sherlock in her arms.

“Sherlock, is it odd...?”

“Yes,” interjected Mycroft.

“Says the woman who would knot a bombe glacée if it gave her the time of day!” yelled Sherlock.

“Sherlock...?” asked John. Sherlock made a playful attempt to bite John’s finger as she drew a line from Sherlock’s nose to her chin. _Anything._ John nodded to the chair. “With the cock, it’ll be...”

_Exquisite._

Sherlock leapt to her feet and spun the straight chair from the desk so that it faced the bed. Then, she sat down.

“Come sit on Daddy’s lap.” Sherlock patted her thighs and winked. John sat on her knees and batted her eyelashes. She shook her head and smiled coyly. “Come on. I have something special for you.” John scrambled off the bed. She stood between Sherlock’s legs and wiggled her bottom. Sherlock guided her down onto her cock. "Sink right down, so good, so sweet, so wet, so open, so ready." John moaned. “How’s that?” teased Sherlock, rocking up into her. John closed her eyes and moaned louder; she reached an arm back around Sherlock’s head. Sherlock bent her head to press her mouth to the juncture of John’s neck and shoulder. With one hand, Sherlock cupped John between her legs and with the other she covered one breast. John wriggled back and forward. Back and Sherlock’s cock was impaled deeper. Forward, and John’s clit got the friction Sherlock knew craved. Sherlock toyed with a nipple until it pebbled. She licked John’s neck and then whispered in her ear.

“Filthy, filthy girl. With your sweet scent and luscious cunt. Riding my cock. Fucking yourself on me.” John pushed back against her. “Getting fucked just the way you like it. Body and mind pinned and played with until you’re mad with it. Drip all over me. Scream my name.”

Sherlock pushed John’s hair back from her face and watched her come apart.

“ _Sherlock!_ ”

_Like solving the Crime of Century._

“You’re like a body in the library, John, a library where three books are bound in human flesh.”

John laughed, and Sherlock came. Abandoning her teasing to grip John thighs tightly with both hands, she rammed her cock into the Omega’s cunt.

“Sherlock, I lov—“

_What’s happening? I’m getting harder, larger._ _The knot!_

“NO!” screamed Mycroft, lunging at the pair. “You will not breed her!”

Sherlock’s cock shrank. John startled; she fled Sherlock's lap.

Sherlock stood up and pushed John behind her with a protective gesture. She faced Mycroft.

“You are a stand-in! For me! I am the Alpha here. I am going to breed her. My Omega. My knot. My child.”

Mycroft seethed. “You can't take care of a houseplant, much less an Omega or a child. She has already expressed a desire to have my child. I initiated her heat. If anyone will be breeding her, it will be me! You abandoned her!”

“Abandoned her? Are you barking? You come into my territory, fuck my Omega, and think you are going to knot her! Over my corpse!”

“That. Can. Be. Arranged!” They held each other's murderous gaze for a long moment. Then, Mycroft blanched.

"Sherlock, where's John?"

_Gone!_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am drinking Blue Himalaya tea from Mariage Frères as I write this fic, which is a Nepalese oolong tea. It's subtle but pleasant. Sherlock's lingerie is Agent Provacateur's [Yoshie](http://www.agentprovocateur.com/lingerie/suspenders/info/yoshie-suspender~nude) set, with author-imagined alterations to allow for an unstrangled cock. Mentions of a few famous UK serial killers (Jack the Ripper, the Acid Bath Murderer, the Brides in the Bath Murderer) and Harvard University, which has two books bound in human flesh.


	3. John's Dream (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I love writing Holmes sisters bickering as much as I love writing the porn.

John’s hand gripped the front door.

“Go on! Kill each other! I’ll finish my heat with the first Alpha I see.”

Sherlock rushed down the stairs. “I will tie you to the bloody bed!”

“I’d love to see you try!” _What kind of Omega do you think I am?_

Mycroft pushed in front of Sherlock.

“She’ll do no such thing,” said Mycroft to John. She turned to her sister. “Must you always eschew artful negotiation for cartoonish threats?!”

Sherlock growled.

“John, it’s not safe outside. Just step away from the door. Please,” said Mycroft diplomatically.

“You look ridiculous. Give me that,” ordered John, extending her hand. Mycroft removed the dressing gown. John wrapped it around herself and crossed her arms over her chest. “Get that off,” she said to Sherlock. “I’m in no mood to be seduced.” Sherlock shucked her stockings and the rest of her garments. “Thank you. Now, SIT! Both of you! And LISTEN!”

Mycroft and Sherlock sat on the middle step beside each other. Sherlock nudged Mycroft with her hips.

“Move over! You’re taking up too much space!”

“I am taking up exactly one-half of this step. You move over!” Mycroft shoved back.

“STOP IT!” John rattled the doorknob. “I have no interest in sharing a heat with Alphas who would rather insult each other, who would rather have the last word, who would rather posture and preen than be with me! Whose heat _is_ this? You’re quarrelling because of me. I’m leaving!”

Sherlock made to stand up but Mycroft blocked her.

Mycroft said quietly, “We’re quarrelling because of _us,_ John. We quarrel. About the trivial and the essential. You are essential. To both of us.”

Sherlock bit her lip and nodded. “Anything, John. Anything you want.”

“Just don’t leave,” added Mycroft.

Both Alphas exhaled audibly when John let go of the doorknob and advanced slowly on the pair. She aligned Sherlock’s left leg and Mycroft’s right leg. Then, she straddled the pair of legs.

“Don’t touch me,” she warned. _Not yet._

“Don’t you see?” she whispered as she rut against their joined legs. “That when you fight, you don’t just ruin my heat, you don’t just aggravate me, _you break my heart_. What you’re saying is that being right, that being better, more, smarter than _her,_ is more important than being with me.”

“ _John_.” It was a shared whisper.

“Watch,” said John. She rocked her hips slowly. “See how good it can be if you cooperate, if you coordinate, if you work together. I want you both. Together.” John threw off the dressing gown and began to grind her hips in earnest. “I know you bicker, and normally, I don’t mind. But. Not. Right. Now.” She rubbed herself against their legs and came with a choked sob.

She looked at them with dazed eyes. “Won’t you agree to a ceasefire? At least for the rest of the heat?”

_Please don’t call my bluff. I don’t want any Alphas but you. And choosing one of you—at this point—would be a darker nightmare than abandoning you both._

Mycroft and Sherlock looked at each other and then nodded.

A wide smile lit John’s face. She kissed Mycroft and then Sherlock. Her voice fell to a soft purr. “I want to be held and fucked.” Kiss, kiss. “And fucked and held.” Kiss, kiss.

“Compromising positions?” asked Sherlock.

“An imaginative range, be assured,” answered John. “I want to _know_ you.” She reached out and wrapped a hand around each cock and gave them an exploratory caress, which resulted in a collective whimper. “The way that you know me.” Suddenly there were two fingers in her mouth, and John made a pornographic display of sucking them.

Sherlock and Mycroft moaned. John felt uncomfortably warm.

“Let’s go for a trial run, shall we? Third wave’s coming.” She shifted into Mycroft’s lap and kissed her languidly. “Hold me open while Sherlock fucks me,” she murmured. Mycroft smiled. “As long as I get my turn.” John nodded.

The stairwell was _the_ most awkward spot in the entire flat to endeavour such a feat, but John did not dare lose one bit of momentum or rare Holmesian goodwill by relocating to more comfortable or appropriate surroundings. Mycroft shifted to the right and opened John’s legs. Sherlock bore the brunt of the damage, but then she was the one least likely to care, not in the moment when she arranged herself atop John, and not days later when touching the bruises and scratches on her knees and shins brought a faint smirk to her lips. Mycroft opened John’s folds, and Sherlock sank into her. All three groaned. Sherlock put her hands against the wall for better leverage and _fucked,_ thrusting her hips sharply. John turned her head to kiss Mycroft but the back and forth jolting resulted in more of a sliding of lips and tongue. Sherlock came and collapse on top of them with a “ _Unf!_ ” John was sandwiched so tightly between the two Alphas that she could barely breathe.

_This, this is perfect. This is what I want._

“I’d call that a success,” panted John. Sherlock nipped her shoulder and hummed in agreement.

“I sincerely hope it isn’t your intention to spend the remainder of your heat in this _particular_ locale,” said Mycroft, nuzzling John’s neck and twining a hand between their bodies to flick her nipple. When Sherlock’s fingers found John’s other nipple, the pleasant urgency quickly reignited.

“Upstairs,” said John.

_Before I demand an encore here and now and ending up needing an orthopaedic surgeon as well as an obstetrician._

They untangled themselves and stretched.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Mycroft expressed a desire to carry John up the second flight to her bedroom. John protested often and loudly that she was no acrobat or tree-climbing animal, but, with Sherlock’s assistance, the three of them managed to get John impaled on Mycroft’s cock while Mycroft remained standing. John wrapped her legs and arms around Mycroft and clung tightly—very much like said tree-climbing animal, which she continued to object vociferously that she was _not_.

“Oh...oh...oh!” called John up the stairs.

It was a bumpy ride, to be sure, and by the time they reached their destination, Mycroft’s reserve was depleted. She braced John against the wall and fucked her roughly. The palms of two hands were on the soles of John’s feet, pushing her knees up and splaying her to receive Mycroft’s thrusts deeper. Mycroft growled, and John caught a glimpse of the Alpha unchained from the British Government.

_More of that, please._

“I’m afraid that lacked a certain finesse, not to mention due consideration for...,” began Mycroft apologetically as she laid John on her back on the bed.

“Kiss it and make it better,” said John with a wink. She turned on her hands and knees.

“Come here _you_ ,” she said to Sherlock. Sherlock stood at one side of the bed. John crawled to her and butt her head against Sherlock’s legs in a feline gesture for attention—and affection. Sherlock crouched and took John’s head in her hands and brushed John’s temples with her thumbs.

“Good girl, there’s a good girl,” cooed Sherlock. She scratched behind John’s ears. John mewled.

“I want to taste you, Sherlock. I want to _experiment_.” Sherlock kissed her softly and chuckled. “Anything, John.” She stood up. John licked up Sherlock’s shaft in one steady swipe of her tongue. Sherlock groaned. John took the tip in her mouth and sucked.

Then, a searching wet tongue was probing her cunt; she spread her knees wider and arched her back in invitation. Whatever rhythm Mycroft set with her tongue John translated it to Sherlock’s cock. John moved deeper and shallower until she found the amount that filled her without choking her. Sherlock grunted.

“John, I’m going to...”

John swallowed what she could and licked the rest off Sherlock’s skin and cock. Now, Sherlock’s come was as bitter as any, but John’s romantic, heat-soaked mind infused it with Sherlockian flavours: morning tea, chemical reagents, violin rosin, and peril.

Then, John was turned on her back to find one very clever tongue inside her cunt and another set of very clever upside-down lips on her clit. She came with a deep, resonant moan of satisfaction. When she felt some semblance of coherent thought return, she opened her eyes. The Alphas were staring down at her. Not for the first time in her life, John was reminded of lionesses at the kill.

_That makes me the gazelle. They still look hungry._

Sherlock covered John’s mouth with her own. When she had licked every trace of herself, she sat up, pulling John to her knees.

“Your turn,” John said to Mycroft.

“John,” said Mycroft. There was caution in her tone. John shrugged. “There’s a mind attached. And the rest of a body. Let’s start with the latter.” Mycroft knelt on the bed in front of John. While Sherlock peppered kisses and licks and bites down John’s spine, John kissed Mycroft from head to waist. Finally, John stopped. So did Sherlock.

“John...” The ratio of caution to lust was tipping.

“Feed it to me,” said John casually. “While Sherlock fucks me. I need to know if you taste as powerful as you are.” John giggled.

_Come on, Mycroft._

“Power doesn’t have a taste.”

“ _How would you know?_ ” John wiggled her eyebrows.

Mycroft laughed. “Alright.”

John rose to her hands and knees again and felt Sherlock’s tip at her entrance. Long, elegant fingers kneaded her buttocks.

Mycroft held her cock at the base and put the tip to John’s mouth. John swirled her tongue around it. Sherlock pushed into her. John dropped her head and sighed as she felt Sherlock fill her. Heavy breathing was the only sound in the room.

John looked up at Mycroft. “More.” Mycroft returned the tip to John’s mouth. John made a lascivious show of gobbling her up. She sucked as Sherlock pumped her cock in and out of her cunt with a steady rhythm. Very slowly, Mycroft pushed further into John’ mouth. John sucked and licked around the shaft. Mycroft closed her eyes and rolled her head back. She put her hands lightly on John’s head.

“John, John, _John_.”

John pulled off and pinched Mycroft’s thigh. “Watch me,” she said. She lapped from base to tip. “Watch this Omega, so hungry for you. Watch her take you as deep as she can. Watch her suck your thick, heavy Alpha cock. She’s so eager, this one. So eager to please you. So eager to service you. So eager to have her mouth fucked and taste you. Mycroft, please. I want your cock. So badly.”

When John put her mouth to Mycroft’s cock anew, all restraint dissolved.

John’s mouth was being _fucked w_ ith hard thrusts that were not cautious, not careful, not calculated, thrusts that were not weighing the pros or cons of anything, thrust that abandoned artful negotiations in favour of animalistic need. John felt a hand pulling her head back by the hair so she could take more of Mycroft.

And her cunt was being _fucked_ , with thrusts that grew more savage, more feral as she rocked between the Alphas. Two hands spread her legs uncomfortably wide.

John stopped being a doctor and a soldier and an _anything_ —except an Omega, tending her Alphas, pleasing her Alphas, being filled by her Alphas.

_My Alphas._

As soon as the phrase coalesced in her mind, John came, which triggered Sherlock and Mycroft. John heard—as in the far distance—two voices shouting her name.

When John opened her eyes, she was flat on her back again, looking up at two sets of concerned eyes. She licked her lips, catching some of the ejaculate that had seeped from her mouth.

“Fine stationery, afternoon tea, expensive tailoring, and influence,” she proclaimed. Sherlock and Mycroft laughed, and the tension in their expressions evaporated.

“Impossible,” said Mycroft. She bent to kiss John softly. Sherlock kissed her, too. The two Holmes sisters looked at each other and shrugged.

“Improbable,” said Sherlock. “But nevertheless..."

John reached her arms up, and then, she was being hauled to her knees again and surrounded. Everything was soft kisses and gentle caresses and strong arms winding around her and tender fingertips stroking her hair and murmured endearments that would have embarrassed all three were they spoken anywhere else. Finally, John said.

“What I want...is... _impossible_.” Mycroft and Sherlock stopped and stared at her. They pulled away and heeled in front of her on the bed—and waited expectantly.

_I could not be more attractive to them—not if I doused myself in cherries and brandy, lit myself on fire, and boarded the Montrose with Dr. Crippen._

“I want to knot you both...at the same time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plan is for the final chapter to go up sometime tomorrow. Long chapters are just not my style, too unwieldy. Hope you're enjoying it.


	4. John's Dream (Part 2)

Sherlock and Mycroft stared at her.

“Double knotting. It wasn’t ever talked about in medical school,” said John. John and Sherlock looked at Mycroft as the resident purveyor of information that doesn’t make it into textbooks.

_Plus, everyone in the room knows that Sherlock’s knowledge of Alpha/Omega biology rivals her knowledge of the solar system._

Mycroft tilted her head. “There have been a couple of cases, but...it’s dangerous.”

_Well, that’s sold Sherlock, but..._

“Prep me,” said John. “Until I’m ready.”

Sherlock kissed her. “ _Interesting._ Me following you into danger.”

Mycroft shook her head slowly.

“John...”

“Make me ready, Mycroft.” John lay down on the bed and stretched out her arms in invitation. They lay down beside her and kissed her in turn. They moved down each side of her, bathing her skin with adoring lips. When they reached her breasts, John curled her hands around their heads, each suckling. Then, both Alphas reached a hand down and inserted one, then two fingers in her cunt.

“Stretch me while you suck. _Christ_ , that’s good.”

They managed to bring John off twice before releasing their drenched hands from between her legs—primarily because Sherlock could not resist teasing John’s clit while they worked her body open. Mycroft chastised her for ‘wavering from the objective’.

“Just like when we built the treehouse,” said Mycroft.

“The treehouse!”

_Now you’re both wavering from the objective. Distraction, distraction, distraction..._

“You aren’t done yet,” interjected John. The Alphas stopped seething at each other and looked at her.

“Sit back-to-back, and no _talking_.” They frowned but complied. John wet her hands between her legs and gripped a cock with each hand. She pumped with one rhythm. The pair leaned back against each other and groaned.

“Oh, _John_.”

_Surely they must know. How beautiful they are. How much they favour one another. Always. But especially when they come._

When both Alphas were spent, they watched with curiosity as John mixed the ejaculate in her hands and painted her skin with it. Circles, lines, various designs on her breasts, hips, stomach, and shoulders.

“I want to be scented and marked, so no other Alpha claims me.”

_I’m no William the Conqueror, but any soldier knows that the quickest way to coalesce two rival factions is to dangle the threat of an outside invasion._

Two sets of Alphas eyes darkened, and then they looked at each other. John giggled as she was pushed prone on the bed. They held her by her arms and legs, but they needn’t have.

_I’m not going anywhere._

Hands were replaced with knees. Then, John heard the heavy breathing and felt the warm sprays against her back.

_That’s the idea. Work. Together. Idiots._

Strong hands rubbed the sticky mess into her skin.

“Mmm,” she hummed. “My Alphas.” Sherlock and Mycroft grunted.

Four hands moved to her buttocks. They released her arms, and John was able to arch off the bed onto her forearms.

“Oh, oh, oh, yeah, one more.” Six fingers were inside her like tentacles: squirming, touching, probing, teasing.

“OH!” John fell back on the bed with a satisfied smile. “I’m ready.”

 

 

John arranged the pillows at the head of the bed and lay down on her right side. Sherlock made to move in front of John, facing her, but Mycroft stopped her.

“I’m in front,” said Mycroft.

“ _I’m_ in front,” said Sherlock.

_Oh Lord, here we go._

“Sherlock, it will be easier on her if I’m in front. But more than that, I need to be in front. I need to see that she’s okay. Do you understand? Not just feel it, not just sense it. I. Need. To. See. Her. _Please_.” The entreaty in Mycroft’s voice brought tears to John’s eyes.

_Don’t fight her on this, Sherlock. Just for this moment, be a good woman, not just a great one._

_A good sister._

“Okay.”

John exhaled. Sherlock slipped behind her. They laced fingers and squeezed. Sherlock nipped John’s earlobe between her teeth. “You said ‘dangerous,’” she whispered. “And here I am.” She raised John’s left leg and sheathed her cock inside John. Then, Mycroft situated herself in front of John.

“John...”

“Come on, Mycroft, give me a pair of dark-haired cherubs, with angelic faces and devilish minds.”

Moving with infinite slowness, Mycroft eased her cock inside John.

_Tight, tight, too tight._

“Wait,” said John. Mycroft stilled. The pain was shooting through John; it threatened to erupt across her face.

_Relax, John, relax. This is never going to work if you don’t relax._

John clenched Sherlock’s hand.

_Help me. Please._

Sherlock stroked John’s neck and shoulders with light fingertips. She licked the scar. She made encouraging noises that John would never hear again in her lifetime. All the while, she recalled to John their puzzles and adventures. Sherlock’s voice seeped into John’s mind like rain on parched soil, and John’s body relaxed. Sherlock’s words set the cadence for their breathing.

Mycroft’s eyes studied John; after some time, she sank further into John.

Finally, John was impossibly—no, improbably—filled. She couldn’t move. Not even if she desired.

_I need the knots. Now._

“Breed me. Fill me. Make me round with your seed, so that all the world sees. My strong Alphas. My beautiful Alphas. My brilliant Alphas.” Mycroft and Sherlock encircled John, cocooning her in their flesh and scent. She nuzzled forwards and backwards indiscriminately at any skin she could reach. John curled one hand forward around Mycroft’s head and kept the other interlaced with Sherlock’s.

Suddenly, the scent in the air changed. John realized with a start.

_That’s me. Hospital-grade disinfectant, gun oil, evening tea, and..._

“Love,” groaned Mycroft and Sherlock. John laughed from sheer joy and felt the swelling inside her. Contrary to her apprehensions, the knotting wasn’t uncomfortable. John’s body instinctively welcomed the intrusion and shifted to accommodate it. It was...

“Perfect. Now, give me that seed. Pump me full of it.”

John cried out when the hot streams flooded her. They triggered an orgasm that consumed her entire body. It surged through her like a slow electric current, short-circuiting every rationale thought in its path. Never before had John considered herself the typical Omega in heat, but in that instant, she gave herself over completely to biology. Mycroft pushed John’ top leg higher and Sherlock spread her buttocks while both drove their cocks deeper. Sherlock licked her neck, emitting feral snarls and snorts. Mycroft buried her face in the crook of John’s arm and breathed deeply; then, she, too, began to lick. Words bubbled from John’s lips:

“My Alphas. My strong, beautiful, brilliant Alphas. Knotting me so tight. Filling me. Over and over. So, so, so good. Making your Omega feel so good. Making me come so hard.”

“Want more?” breathed Sherlock into her ear.

John smiled at the familiar teasing. “Yes, you mad gorgeous beast. Give me more.” She turned her head and pursed her lips in an air kiss.

Still locked together, Sherlock managed to roll them so that Mycroft was on the bottom and John sitting astride her with knees bent, hands on either side of Mycroft bracing herself. Sherlock was behind John. Sherlock’s movements were minute, but enough to lightly bounce John’s clit against Mycroft and make a delicious sweetness kindle inside the Omega.

Sherlock wrapped her hands around John and cupped her breasts. She squeezed and kneaded them.

“They’re going to get big and round and full,” said John. Sherlock whimpered.

“Here, too,” whispered Mycroft, running her hands all over John’s belly and trailing fingers down to play with her clit. John’s head rolled back and forth; she rocked her hips with Sherlock’s. The sweetness was building.

“Two babies. I’ll be so big and round and full. You might want to taste. To touch. In my bed.”

“In your bed. Every night. Tasting you,” said Sherlock.

“Touching you,” said Mycroft.

“And if I needed just a little bit of...?” asked John, panting.

“Fucking you,” they said.

John could feel the wave cresting inside her.

“Give me our little angels. Our babies. Ours!” A second wave of hot spurts hit John and made her clench even tighter around the knots.

Their collective cries were muffled as they collapsed together onto John’s left side. Two hands lifted her right leg gently. Through the haze, John felt a twinge of gratitude at the relief that poured through the muscles of her left leg. Awash in pheromones, the group fell silent and motionless.

 

 

Sometime later, Mycroft cleared her throat and declared in a clear voice:

“My child will be the eldest.”

“Of course it will be the eldest, it will be the heaviest and sink to the bottom,” replied Sherlock.

“Or your child simply may not be able to locate the exit and may have to follow mine’s lead. Naturally.”

Secure—literally and figuratively—in her place with her Alphas and portentous of her style of parenting, John was inclined to be indulgent. “Ha, ha, HA!” She giggled. The resulting muscle contractions milked the two cocks, and she felt a third warm gush, softer and slower than the previous ones.

They groaned. Mycroft and Sherlock kissed either side of John’s shoulder.

 

 

“So they’ll be twins,” said John, eventually.

“Half-siblings,” said Mycroft.

“Cousins,” said Sherlock.

John nodded. She wiggled and felt the knots still holding them firm. “Does anybody know any good jokes, seeing as how we’re going to be stuck for another twenty minutes or so?”

“Possibly fifty,” said Mycroft.

Mycroft looked from John to Sherlock. “Of the few cases recorded, the time knotted doubled as well.”

_Jesus Christ! We’ll never make it._

Mycroft said quickly, “Perhaps, I could recount the fate of the treehouse...”

“First, _I_ will recount the fate of my birthday cake, which will make the fate of the treehouse entirely _justifiable_...”

“Recount _everything_ ,” sighed John, smiling.

 

Eventually, John dozed. A few minutes later, she heard voices.

“...second trimester, she will be installed in my residence.”

“No.”

“I am not going to have the mother of my child walking up two flights of stairs just to rest. My home has a lift. Plus, there will be staff to tend to her needs.”

“Baker Street is her home. She belongs here. _I_ will tend to her needs.”

“When you aren’t tending to mould spores or decomposing limbs...”

“Oh piss off!”

John yawned and was lulled into a deep sleep by the sounds of her Alphas.

 

 

When John woke again, she was no longer surrounded by long limbs and bickering, but rather water, warm water that smelled of mint. The room was dark, save for the light of three candles. A school of fish nipped at her toes. No, it was Mycroft, with a small brush.

_Bath._

Sherlock sat on the floor, curled over one side of the tub, stirring the water with one finger, making the three paper boats list and pitch.

The soft glow, the silence, the air thick with moisture, the beauty and idleness of her companions, it all served to make the scene _enchanted_.

“You look like gods.” John’s throat was parched; her voice was rough.

A glass was at her lips. She gulped the icy water.

“Thank you. That would make me...” John’s mind worked slowly. _The one with the swan..._

“Leda,” they supplied.

“Which would make me Zeus,” said Mycroft, “and, you king of Sparta.”

“Why aren’t you king of Sparta?” asked Sherlock, her voice rising.

“Stop, stop, before I call them Castor and Pollux just to spite you. Now, will somebody tell me what happened?”

“When the knots subsided, we were still stuck together,” began Sherlock.

“Most unpleasant,” said Mycroft with a grimace. “So we took turns watching over you and cleaning ourselves and then brought you here and washed you.”

“Without starting a world war or killing each other. Impressive,” said John.

“We didn’t want to wake you,” said Sherlock.

“Thank you.” John rolled back and forth in the tub and stretched, checking her numerous sore places. “I’m going to need a snack before the next round.”

“The heat will dissipate from the moment of conception,” said Mycroft.

“Doctor, remember? I was awake for that day of medical school.”

“It was said for Sherlock’s benefit.”

Water splashed. A paper boat hit Mycroft in the face.

“Alright, help a girl out.” John gingerly rolled herself over like a large, lumbering sea mammal. She pushed up on her knees and hissed. “Ugh!” Then, she was being lifted out of the water and placed standing on a mat.

“ _John_ ,” said Sherlock, dropping to her knees and putting a hand over John’s belly. Water dripped from her onto Sherlock.

“Sherlock, you can’t possibly smell a change in me yet...”

“You’ve been asleep for quite a while, John. You smell like...a secret passageway to a hidden crypt.” She smiled up at John.

“If _you_ can smell me then Mycroft...”

“Oh, _John_.” Mycroft knelt beside Sherlock and put her own hand on John’s belly, beside her sister’s. “Like Sherlock’s birthday cake.”

“I did say that _yours are the genes that need to be replicated_ ,” said John.

“Ours,” they said

John placed one hand on top of their two and caressed the tops of two dark-haired heads with the other.

“Ours,” she echoed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!


	5. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short epilogue to say 'thank you' for all the attention to my crazy little story.

“Sale’s finalized,” Mycroft announced; she dropped a large envelope on the desk.

“At last,” said Sherlock.

Mycroft stopped and drank in the sight of John: the Omega was lying on her side on the sofa, nested among pillows, covered with a heavy blanket. Her legs were draped over Sherlock’s lap.

John peeped through lust-soaked, half-lidded eyes. “ _Mycroft_ ,” she sighed.

“How do you feel?” Mycroft’s voice fell to a soft register.

“Wonderful,” breathed John. “Sherlock’s been...oh, oh, _oh!_ ” There were small movements under the blanket.

“Taking care of you.”

“Mmm. Teasing me.” John pouted in Sherlock’s direction. “For hours.”

“Forty-three minutes,” corrected Sherlock.

Mycroft crouched to John’s level. “You look extraordinary,” she said. John let the blanket fall to reveal a bare shoulder. Mycroft pressed her lips to the skin. She made to stand up, but then returned to the shoulder and licked it with a wide tongue. She groaned and placed a hand tentatively on the blanket.

“May I?” she croaked. John nodded. The blanket fell to the floor to reveal a very naked, very pregnant Omega, writhing against an Alpha’s hand. The small pillows wedged between John's legs were soaked with the effects of Sherlock’s attention. At the sight of John’s heavy breasts and swollen belly, the Alphas groaned. Immediately, hands were gently rubbing John. Everywhere. She mewled, then buried her face in the sofa.

“Christ! I’ve never felt this needy—not even during the heat!”

Mycroft brushed John's hair tenderly. “It’s normal, as the birth approaches, pheromones driven by survival instincts, really. You want to be near us. To be...reassured.” Mycroft glanced at Sherlock. “We feel it, too,” she whispered to John and rose to her feet.

John looked up. Her hungry expression stilled the Alphas. She opened her legs wider at Sherlock’s tented dressing gown. She licked her lips slowly at Mycroft’s tented trousers. The Alphas did not hesitate to answer the invitation. Mycroft eased herself on the sofa, under John’s arms. Sherlock positioned herself behind John, half kneeling, half standing, turning the Omega slightly so she could align cock and cunt.

John looked back. “You need it, too?” she asked with a quiver.

Sherlock groaned. “So much, John. Let me fuck this sweet, dripping Omega cunt.” John pressed her top half to the sofa and arched her back. “Please, Sherlock,” she groaned. Sherlock spread John’s buttocks. “Yes, yes, yes. Spread me wide, Sherlock, so I can take more. _Oh, Christ!_ ” Sherlock sank into John, and then began to pump. “Yes, yes, yes!” cried John. Sherlock let the dressing gown fall from her.

John saw that Mycroft had opened her trousers and was slowly stroking her shaft. She pushed up on her arms, leant forward and covered the tip of Mycroft’s cock with her lips. “John!” moaned Mycroft. As Sherlock thrust deeper into John’s cunt, John sank her mouth further down around Mycroft’s cock.

Mycroft caressed John's head and murmured. “Such sweet Omega lips around my cock, sucking me, making me feel so good. So good, John.”

The scent of Omega pleasure rolling off John was so strong that the Alphas threw their heads back and growled. John’s entire body shuddered as her mouth and cunt filled.

A short time later, Mycroft had set herself to rights and promised John to return later in the evening. John nodded and smiled. Mycroft stepped down, but stopped when she heard John’s whisper.

“Sherlock.” Mycroft heard soft, wet noises.

“Mmm?”

“If we put all pillows on the floor...”

“Mm-hmm...”

“And moved very carefully...”

“Mm. Like this?” There was shuffling.

“Easy, easy, yes. Would you be able to...?”

“Fuck you from behind.”

“OH! Yeah, yeah. Like that. Oh, oh.”

“John.”

“Yes?”

“I’m not going to stop.”

“Christ, Sherlock!” John was breathing hard.

“Even if you fall asleep, I’m going to keep fucking you so that when you wake, you’ll know, you’ll be certain, that your Alpha is here, wanting you, taking you, claiming you.”

“Sherlock!” The word was muffled by pillows.

John turned her head—to breathe and speak. “Sherlock, when Mycroft returns...”

“She hasn’t left.” Sherlock caught Mycroft’s hypnotized gaze.

Not seeming to hear, John continued, “When she returns, don’t squabble. Let her...let her...too.” John reached back with her hands, and Sherlock laced their fingers. Then, Sherlock pushed forward and tented her body over John’s. She nipped John’s neck playfully and made a noncommittal noise.

John’s voice was thick. “Sherlock...suck...” John released Sherlock’s hand to cup her own breast and squeeze. “...while...Mycroft...fucks me.” Sherlock nodded at Mycroft, who approach the scene with a hard, heavy cock jutting out from open trousers.

 

 

Sometime later, the only sounds in the flat were the slow, even breathing of a sleeping Omega and the _tippity-tappity, blub-blub_ of two Alphas on their respective electronic devices. Sherlock and Mycroft sat on either end of the sofa, with John curled between them. Eyes focused, faces lit by small screens, each Alpha laid a protective, reassuring hand on her Omega.

_Just in case._

 


	6. Epilogue No. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new parents take advantage of the peace and quiet.

Mycroft rubbed her eyes. The hotel room was dark, save for the light of the computer screen. She carried the computer to the bed and clicked.

She smiled.

_There they were. Sleeping. Amazing. Beautiful._

The camera had been a condition for Mycroft’s resuming her travel schedule. A tall standing partition separated the cribs from the bed and shielded two tiny sets of eyes from the soft light from the lamp on the bedside table. Mycroft shifted the camera away from the cribs and saw John wrapped in a heavy dressing gown, propped up on pillows, with Sherlock draped at her side. The camera zoomed into the scene.

**You look rested. MH**

John raised an eyebrow and glanced at her mobile on the beside table.

**Slept through the night. BOTH! FINALLY! JW**

Sherlock’s head began to move. Her tongue licked at the curves of John’s breast. John leaned her head back and smiled. She carded her fingers through Sherlock’s dark hair and held her head close. She licked her lips as Sherlock’s tongue moved around and around, getting closer to the centre. Sherlock stopped and looked up at John. John nodded and pursed her lips. Sherlock leaned up for a quick kiss, and then covered John’s nipple with her mouth. John’s lips formed a silent ‘Oh!’ and she arched into Sherlock’s mouth.

John kept one hand at Sherlock’s head and with the other untied the sash of the dressing gown. She pulled the garment aside. Mycroft leaned closer to the screen, drinking in her naked form, breast, belly, hip, leg. John cupped her breast and looked at the camera with hooded eyes as if offering it to Mycroft. Mycroft opened her mouth and suckled the air. The camera zoomed even closer in on John’s fingers. Mycroft licked her lips as milk dripped over them. Then the scene was blocked by a dark head.

Mycroft panned the camera out.

John turned slightly, and Sherlock’s mouth moved southward to her waist and hip. John raised her leg; Sherlock hooked her arm underneath it. It was the perfect angle for Mycroft to see John’s cunt, her damp pubic hair. John reached a hand down and lifted her buttock. Mycroft saw her rim, too. Sherlock’s teasing fingers appeared, tracing John’s cunt. Then, one long finger pushed inside John’s cunt. John bit her lip hard, her face contoured in pleasure, her entire rocking into Sherlock’s ministrations.

“She can take so much more,” said Mycroft. “Give her more.” Sherlock inserted two, then three fingers.

Mycroft groaned and shifted on the bed, palming her hardening cock with one hand. When she panned the camera out, she saw John leaning over Sherlock, reaching, slowly opening the drawer of the bedside table.

_Oh! She had found what Mycroft had left for her._

And then, she was sucking the tip greedily; on her back, dressing gown open to reveal two heavy breasts, a heaving chest, legs splayed wide, a dark head between them. John held the dildo—carefully selected to match the dimensions of Mycroft’s own erect member—with two hands and sucked.

Mycroft hurriedly found lubricant and tore off her clothing so she was naked from the waist down. She knelt on the bed, in front of the computer screen, and slicked her hard cock, lifting her hips as if she were feeding it to John’s hungry mouth.

“Take it, my girl. Oh, you need it, don’t you? Need that big, heavy cock in your mouth. Take it, sweetheart, that’s a girl. More? So greedy when you’re being tongue-fucked.” John opened her legs wider; Sherlock scooped under John’s legs and pulled her closer to her head. “Chasing that tongue, aren’t you? Oh, she’s deep inside you now, isn’t she? Nice and soft and wet and warm, just like you like it. Oh, oh, oh! Come, sweetness. Bite hard so you don’t scream. Don’t want to wake them.”

John’s hips canted up, and she bit hard on the dildo. Mycroft came all over her hand and the screen, which she wiped with her shirt-sleeve.

Sherlock and John sat up and kissed and quickly rearranged themselves. Mycroft slumped back against the headboard and watched John’s breasts swing and drip as Sherlock took her from behind, kneading John’s buttocks as she thrust. John looked into the camera. Then, she made a pornographic display of licking the dildo. She smiled and put in her mouth to suck anew as Sherlock thrusts grew rougher and faster. Finally, Sherlock stilled and collapsed briefly on John’s lower back, rubbing her face back and forth against John’s skin and pressing kisses there. John spit the dildo on the bed as Sherlock’s head dipped from view. John smiled grew wider and she curled her arms around her head, leaning down, arse up. Then she turned her face, and Mycroft could see a look of pained ecstasy.

“Oh, she’s eating that sweet little arse out, too, isn’t she? You like that, my Dear?” said Mycroft. “Like her licking that sweet little hole? Oh, yeah, you like it. Naughty, naughty girl.”

When they shifted positions again, Mycroft saw the wetness dripping down John’s inner thighs and groaned. She felt her cock, improbably, stir again. Then, it flooded with blood as Sherlock inserted the lubed dildo into John’s cunt and began pumping her with it.

Mycroft babbled at the screen.

“Oh, my girl. Want to fuck you. So badly. Put this hard cock in your sweet cunt, in your wet mouth, in that sweet little hole too. Oh, _God_. Fucking that cunt like you want it, like you need it, you greedy beast, you insatiable siren. Milk streaming down you, one dildo in that mouth, one in that arse, and my hard cock fucking your sweet, sweet cunt. Filled with me, taking me, so good, such a good, good girl.”

A groan ripped from Mycroft, and she came again, her mind wiped blank for an instant. When she opened her eyes, she saw John, curled on her side, smiling sleepily. Sherlock spooned behind John, covering her with the dressing gown and nuzzling at her neck; she shot a look at the camera that clearly said ‘That’s enough.’

Mycroft agreed and closed the screen.

 


	7. Epilogue No. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every new mother falls asleep in the shower. At some point.

The spray hit John in the face; she jolted awake.

“Asleep in the shower,” she mumbled. “Ugh!”

John realized that her back was not against cold tile but rather warm...she inhaled...Alpha.

“Welcome back.”

“Thank you,” said Mycroft, nuzzling John’s neck. “Three weeks was too long. Next trip shan’t be for a while and not more than a fortnight.” Mycroft lathered soap in her hands and smoothed it over John’s skin.

“Hmmm. Mr. Hudson’s watching them.”

“Yes. I bought us another hour.”

“Mmm.”

“Rest, John.”

“Mmm.“ John closed her eyes and gave herself over the Mycroft’s hands, which were gliding across her body, soaping her from head to toe. She only startled once when she realized just how _thorough_ Mycroft was being in her ministrations. Steam filled the small space, enveloping them in a wet fog.

“Rinse.” John opened her eyes and stepped into the spray, lifting her arms and turning so the suds cascaded down her body to the tub. Hands at her waist turned her.

John curled her arms around Mycroft’s neck as Mycroft pushed her into the spray. They kissed open-mouthed, languidly.

“Far too long,” groaned Mycroft, licking John’s right shoulder. John stroked the short hairs at the base of Mycroft’s neck. She felt Mycroft’s cock stir and snaked a hand between them. She closed her fingers around the base and said,

“Welcome _home_.”

“Yesss.” Mycroft reached behind John, turning off the water with one hand.

“Enjoyed my gift. Very much. But _this_?” John gave Mycroft’s cock a quick squeeze and stroke. “This is better. Daddy, please, may I lick my favourite lolly? I’ve been so good, and I miss you so much.”

“Yes, yes, yes! Daddy needs it so much, love.” John sank to her knees and put the tip of Mycroft’s cock in her mouth, sucking and licking experimentally. Then, she looked up in Mycroft’s rapt gaze.

“Watch. I’ve been practising.” Then she swallowed Mycroft in one motion. Mycroft moaned loudly. She put her foot on the edge of the tub and brought her hands to rest gently on the back of John’s head as the Omega bobbed and sucked.

Mycroft babbled. “John, every night. _This._ Wanting your mouth. Your sweet body. That delicious cunt. Every part of you. Too long, John, too long. Let me, let me.” John pulled off and ran her tongue up the underside of Mycroft’s shaft.

“What?”

“Fuck that mouth. Come all over you.”

“As you wish,” said John, grinning.

Mycroft rocked her hips into John’s mouth, slowly and shallowly at first, then with greater speed and depth. John clung to her, feeling her muscles tremble. Then, Mycroft pulled out and pushed John down so that she curled on the base of the tub. John felt the hot splashes on her back, and Mycroft’s fingers massaging semen into skin.

“Mine, mine, mine.” Finally, Mycroft lifted John by the arms to standing and held her close.

“Good to be home,” said Mycroft, kissing John’s mouth softly.

A cool draft cut through the room.

“Ah, a cold wind from the North,” said Mycroft.

“Thought I smelled a certain...corpulence...in the air,” replied Sherlock. John heard the tell-tale flip of a bottle; when she pulled back the shower curtain, Sherlock was seated on the lidded toilet, dressing gown open, stroking her erect cock.

“Come here.” John stepped over the edge of the tub and sank down onto Sherlock’s cock.

“Oh, God, yes!” John wove her fingers in Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock lifted John’s thigh and rolled her hips up. “How was the morgue? Uh, uh, yeah, oh, _Christ_ , yes!”

“Interesting. Hara-kiri isn’t as common in London as you might think.”

John pressed her body to Sherlock’s darkening the blue silk. “I’m wet, slippery, Sherlock.”

“Guess, I’ll just have to hold on tight.” Sherlock ran her teeth and tongue along John’s neck and shoulder. The Alpha pheromones were as thick as the steam, pressing on John, unravelling her.

“Sher...My...both,” cried John, waving to the wall behind her.

Mycroft eased out the shower and towelled off quickly while Sherlock rose to her feet, carrying John with her. Mycroft leaned back against the toilet wall, holding John’s buttocks and thighs, while Sherlock pounded into her.

“Oh, oh, my Alphas,” panted John, rolling her head back and pursing her lips at Mycroft. Mycroft swiped a hand down John’s still-damp back and shoved two fingers in her mouth. John sucked greedily as her body bounced between the two bodies. Sherlock roared at her final thrust, grabbing John’s thighs just beyond Mycroft’s hands and splaying her legs even further. Then, she relaxed her grip, chest heaving. She pressed a kiss to John’s scar. Mycroft’s removed her fingers from John’s mouth.

“Christ, I love being fucked by you both.”

“Not over yet,” said Sherlock, setting John’s feet on the floor. She trailed kisses down John’s torso and belly.

“We still have...twenty-two minutes,” said Mycroft, licking down John’s spine.

“Plenty of time,” said Sherlock.

Then, John was looking down into two wicked Alpha grins. They were on their knees, in front and behind her, almost heeling, waiting for her command. And though her body was aching for their touch, for release, though her thighs were damp with anticipation, there was a little bit of wicked in the Omega as well.

“Beg for it.”

“Please, John...”

“Please...”

“Let us fuck you...

“Your sweet arse...

“And cunt...”

“Slow and deep and soft...the way you like it...both...together.”

“Taste you, be inside, filthy, but we want it so badly...we’ll be so good...”

“Need it, please, John, let your Alphas...”

“Fuck you...”

“Christ, yes!” cried John.

John didn’t remember a lot about the next few minutes. Her mind was reduced to the sweetness that two warm, probing, eager Alpha tongues were kindling inside her. She held their heads lightly, swaying back and forth until her legs threatened to buckle and she pushed against the wall for support. Then, the spark turned into a flame, and she was whimpering their names. Then her legs _were_ buckling. She sank as her Alphas rose.

Then John was eye-to-cock, kneeling between them, kissing and licking and stroking, sloppily, clumsily, back and forth. In the end, it was the Alphas’ own hands that brought them each off again, all over John.

Like a doll, they lifted John to her feet. Mycroft cracked the door, allowing the heat and steam to dissipate, stirring John from her torpor.

John took a deep breath. “Think I might need another shower. A proper one,” she said.

Mycroft pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades. “I’ll clean myself up at the sink and see to the children.”

“Allow me,” said Sherlock, turning on the taps and making a dramatic wave at the shower.

“Cold. Alone,” said John. “Or I might never make it out of the bloody toilet.”

“As you wish.”


	8. Epilogue No. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The future of the Holmes-Watson offspring's education leads to arguments and make-up sex.

_“You were supposed to get the post!”_

_“I was busy!”_

By the time John reached the sitting room, her confusion had soured to anger and then boiled to rage.

“You enrolled them,” John looked at the letter in her hand and then at Mycroft, “in an academy for the ‘gifted and talented’! They’re six months old!”

“John, it is the finest early childhood learning institution in the country. They will benefit from superior academic curricula and structure...”

Sherlock interrupted, “Which will be supplemented by independent problem-solving and investigation _at home_.” She glared at her sister.

John shot Sherlock a sharp glance. “You knew about this?!” Sherlock face fell. She shook her head and said casually, “No. It was all Mycroft’s doing.” She stepped away from her sister.

Mycroft scowled. “She took them to be tested. When I was in Prague.”

“Where was I?!” cried John.

“You were very tired that day, John,” said Sherlock.

“I am very tired every day! It’s called ‘motherhood’!” John ran a hand through her hair. “This is the kind of decision that we make together. You two can’t just unilaterally...”

“‘Unilaterally’ isn’t the precise word...,” began Mycroft.

John’s Look froze her.

“OUT! BOTH OF YOU! SOLVE A CRIME! START A WAR! I DON’T CARE!”

“You can’t keep me from my own home!” cried Sherlock indignantly.

“Or us from our own children!” added Mycroft.

Normally, such a statement would melt John. Because with her Alphas, it was always ‘our’ children, not ‘hers’ and ‘mine,’ regardless of genetics. A casual observer might not be able to distinguish lineage, but there were no casual observers in 221B at the moment.

Well, no _adult_ observers. Two sets of infant eyes watched intently from their play-mat on the floor as the three sets of adult eyes engaged in a vicious—but silent—tug of wills. Then two sets of Holmesian feet padded down the stairs.

“Aargh!”

John collapsed into her chair and let the letter drop to the floor.

* * *

**John. SH**

John rolled over in bed and looked at her mobile. It was late.

**Where are you? JW**

**Downstairs. SH**

John frowned.

**Mr. Hudson’s? JW**

**No, Speedy’s. SH**

“Speedy’s isn’t open,” mumbled John.

**With Mycroft. SH**

John sighed. “Mycroft at a café?”

**Ok. JW**

**Both? SH**

**Yes. JW**

* * *

John sat up in bed with her arms crossed.

“Do not wake them up,” she warned, pointing to the steady breathing emanating from the baby monitor.

The two stood in the doorway like contrite schoolgirls in front of the head mistress.

“Apologies, John,” said Mycroft. Sherlock nodded.

“For?”

“Not including you in the decision-making process,” said Mycroft.

Sherlock interjected, “Even though, I would like to point out that it was Mycroft’s idea originally.”

John rolled her eyes. “Apologies accepted. Come to bed.” She flipped back the duvet on either side of her.

In minutes, John was ensconced between toothpaste-breathed, pyjama-clad Alphas. She sighed. She felt Sherlock’s lips on her neck as Mycroft said, “I _am_ sorry, John.” John curled one hand into Mycroft’s hair and pulled her closer, kissing her lips.

“I know,” she answered and kissed her again. The kiss turned into a long, wet meeting of mouths while Sherlock nibbled at John’s neck and kneaded her back with strong fingers. When Sherlock’s hands reached her lower back, John broke the kiss to whisper a groan.

Sherlock continued her ministrations, and John bit into the ridge of Mycroft’s shoulder to silence herself. Mycroft quickly slipped out of her pyjama top, and John’s teeth found skin instead of fabric. Sherlock’s hands moved lower, massaging John’s buttocks through soft cotton. Then Sherlock’s hands were inside the knickers, and John was openly panting into Mycroft’s ear. After a few minutes, Sherlock’s hands were not longer just cupping, they were separating the cheeks of John’s buttocks and two little fingers were pushing down into John’s cleft.

“John?” asked Sherlock.

John hummed and wiggled her arse in invitation.

Sherlock released her, and John whimpered a faint protest. A tremor course through her, however, when she heard the cap of the lubricant bottle snap open. Her knickers came off. The nightgown rose to her waist.

“You want to be doing this,” whispered Sherlock. Her hot breath was on John’s neck, but her eyes, John knew were, on Mycroft. “Opening her sweet arse. Teasing. Touching. Probing. Readying her to take your cock. Feeling her body resist. Cajoling. Flirting. Until it gives way.” Sherlock’s fingers mimicked her words, working John’s arse open with gentle, lube-coated attention.

Mycroft’s hands were buried in John’s hair, her lips brushing over John’s face.

“ _Oh_ ,” breathed John when Sherlock’s little finger entered her.

“You want to be here, adding fingers. So hot and tight and delicious. So good. Keep pushing in and out. Spreading her until you can sink your cock in her. In this sweet arsehole.”

John felt Mycroft’s cock harden between them. She opened her eyes. The Alpha’s eyes were dark with mingled desire and enmity.

The air cracked the instant that defence turned to offense.

Mycroft kicked off her pyjama bottoms and moved her hands from John’s hair to the loose ribbons that crisscrossed the front of her nightgown. She raised an eyebrow at John, and John nodded.

Then the front of John’s gown was open. Mycroft tucked the cotton below John’s heavy breasts. She nuzzled at John’s cleavage. “I’m sure it’s delectable. But wouldn’t you rather be here?” Mycroft licked at the inside swell of each breast. She made a dramatic show of covering John’s nipple with her mouth and sucking. John arched back against Sherlock, chest heaving into Mycroft’s mouth, panting at the intrusion of a second finger inside her. John felt the familiar twinge of muscles in her chest and knew that Mycroft’s taunts were only beginning.

“Ah,” said Mycroft, planting kisses on the whole of John’s breast as the first drops of milk appeared. “You would _love_ to be here. Tasting. Savouring. Drinking. Making these beautiful buds tighten and pebble.” She stuck out her tongue and licked and then looked over John’s shoulder with a smug smile.

Sherlock removed her pyjamas; the tip of her cock nudged at John’s entrance. She pushed in slightly and stopped as Mycroft smeared the liquid on her lips and pressed them tightly. Sherlock's teeth pinched on the side of John’s neck, threatening to break the skin.

“Ah, ah, ah,” warned Mycroft. “Do not harm her.” Sherlock’s tongue soothed the marked skin, but John could still hear ragged, angry, half-snorting in her ear.

Mycroft bent her head to trail light kisses over the top of John’s breast to her clavicle. Sherlock bent hers to offer an apologetic lick to the top edge of John’s scar. John curled one hand in Mycroft’s hair and reached behind her to hold Sherlock’s head with the other.

Then she knocked their heads together with a _clunk_.

“Ow!” The Alphas cried in unison. Two cocks deflated, and Sherlock quickly pulled out of John.

“Hush! Don’t wake them! But listen carefully, my body is not your chessboard, and my pleasure is not a pawn in your silly game. You either start cooperating right now or you’ll be helping Mr. Chatterjee with inventory until dawn. No fighting. And no colluding behind my back.”

John’s fury continued to spark. “’Gifted and talented,’ my arse! You two are a pair of idiots! Maybe we should send the children to a school for common sense and decency!” John looked over her shoulder at Sherlock; the deep red cast to the Alpha’s face was visible even in the shadows. Mycroft, too, looked properly chagrined and offered meekly.

“It’s our hope that they’ve inherited that from their mother. One more chance?” Sherlock nuzzled at John’s neck. “Please,” she added.

John nodded. “ _Work_. _Together_.” She enunciated each word slowly, as if, well, as if to _children_.

Eventually, John would sink her own top teeth into the skin below her bottom lip until a trickle of blood appeared, a trickle that Sherlock would eagerly lick away, because when her Alphas worked together, things moved from pleasurable to _sublime_.

Sublime because Mycroft’s hands were spreading her buttocks and angling her legs and hips just-so, just-so Sherlock’s cock could penetrate her arse more easily. “Oh, oh, oh!” cried John. Mycroft added more lube around her entrance as Sherlock thrust slowly and gently.

Sublime because Sherlock’s hands were cupped around her breasts, squeezing in a rhythm that she had perfected over time, as Mycroft feasted on them with lips, tongue, and teeth. Four sets of fingers fell into synchronized efforts than left John trembling. Her own hands flailed. Sherlock took her left hand and pulled it back to her own flexed thigh. Mycroft kissed her right palm and laced their fingers awkwardly together.

In a few minutes, John felt Sherlock’s entire body tense. Sherlock's hands moved from John’s breasts to the back of her shoulders and pushed away from her, pistoning her hips frantically.

“Mycroft,” panted John. “Do you want to...?” John cupped her own breasts, separating them slightly. Mycroft grunted and rose up. John slid an arm under Mycroft’s knee, steadying her as she nestled her cock in John's cleavage. She moved in time with Sherlock, and the two Alphas came. Together.

John smiled despite the sticky mess that covered her from chin to chest and oozed down the back of her thighs.

Mycroft left the bed.

“Two, please,” called Sherlock. John turned to face Sherlock. She raised an eyebrow. Sherlock gave her a goofy grin. “I do know how to be polite, John. I just choose not to.” John was still smiling when they kissed.

“I still can’t believe that you went along with her,” she said.

Sherlock tilted her head thoughtfully and shrugged. Then she lowered her voice. “By the way, in the spirit of full disclosure, I had to...assist...them slightly with the examination.”

John stared at her. “You helped our children _cheat_ on their first test!” Giggles erupted. “Oh my God! Should we tell her that they aren’t quite as gifted and talented as she thinks?!”

“They’re perfect,” insisted Sherlock as Mycroft returned with two warm, wet flannels.

“Of course they are!” said Mycroft.

John laughed. “I did go by that academy today. You’re right. It is very, very nice. And I think it will be good, when the time is right. But they’re still so tiny. And...I’m not ready to let them go yet.” John looked from one to the another. They nodded. “When the time is right,” agreed Mycroft.

The Alphas were in the process of cleaning their Omega when they stopped and stared at each other in horror.

“John!”

“You didn’t...”

“I don’t _have_ to...every time...” said John.

Mycroft’s expression darkened. “What kind of Alphas are we...?”

John kissed one and then the other.

“You are the perfect Alphas. For me.” They almost-purred as she rubbed behind their ears.

“And the night isn’t over,” she added. “Play with me while I doze. You can take turns. Or not,” she teased.

And then they _did_ purr, all three, over and over, until dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by my own tedious & nerve-racking search for a pre-school for my son. Thank you for reading.


	9. Halloween (Epilogue No. 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Holmes-Watson babies attend their first Halloween party. How much alcohol will their parents consume to survive? And will there be drunk fancy dress sexytimes once the wee ones are put to bed? 
> 
> Tags: light bondage, lactation kink, double penetration (the old fashioned kind).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's been a year since I added to this 'verse! Sorry this didn't go up on Halloween, but I've come to realize that seasonal punctuality worries me much more than my gentle readers :)

“Get the camera, Sherlock! It’s their first piece of post!”

Sherlock grunted and did not move from the microscope.

_Ding! Ding!_

John approached the laptop on the counter. She tapped the screen.

Sherlock muttered to herself, “Is forensic science to be advanced today? It would seem not.” She turned to John. “Obviously an invitation to a social engagement. Does it specify a limit on how many fairy cakes a guest may consume? If not, Mycroft may share your enthusiasm.”

“Mycroft! Look!” said John. She held the envelope up to the screen.

“Who is corresponding with our offspring?” asked Mycroft. “Invitation.”

“Let’s see.” John hummed. “Huh. Who invites infants to a fancy dress Halloween party?”

Mycroft and Sherlock replied in unison. “Americans.”

“Well, it’s their first piece of post and their first party invitation and they’re going!”

“No!” said Sherlock. “Ridiculous!” said Mycroft.

“And so are we.”

Mycroft and Sherlock gasped.

“I will be solving a serial murder, John. Always tricky, those, and time-consuming,” said Sherlock quickly.

“What serial murder?”

“The one I will be committing,” said Mycroft. “Please convey my apologies to the host. Explain that I will be unable to attend due to incarceration.”

“Ha! So you admit I _would_ catch you!” cried Sherlock.

“Some things are preferable to attending a children’s soiree,” retorted Mycroft.

“Nice try,” said John. “I applaud your spirit of cooperation, really I do. But we are all going, Alphas, Omega, and the wee ones, so you had best put those magnificent brains together and figure out something for them to wear.”

Sherlock and Mycroft groaned.

* * *

“Show me what you’ve got.” John crossed her arms over her chest. Sherlock and Mycroft each held a large shopping bag.

Sherlock pulled out two brown and grey tweedy suits.

“So they’ll be Oliver Twist? And Tiny Tim?” asked John.

“One of them will be George Ruthven, senior Bow Street Runner in 1823. The other will be John Thurtell, who Ruthven arrested for the murder of William Weare. Thurtell was executed in front of a crowd of 40,000—“

“No! Your turn.”

Mycroft produced two pastel coloured suits bedecked with ribbons.

John stared for a moment and then said, “They’ll be…”

“Petit fours,” said Mycroft.

“No!”

Sherlock smirked. “You know, I’ve just got a flash of inspiration for West End musical, _Sweets-ney Todd_ , starring Mycroft Holmes as the filicidal demon baker of, well, Baker Street.”

“Shut up, Sherlock!”

John sighed. “Anything else?”

Mycroft and Sherlock looked at one another. Then they each reached a hand into their respective shopping bags and held up matching yellow-and-black striped suits.

“Oh!” cooed John. “Bees! Perfect!” She kissed Mycroft and then Sherlock. “My brilliant Alphas! Now, what should _I_ wear? Hmm.”

* * *

“I’m glad you’re here, Mycroft,” said John as she reached the top of the stairs, zippered suit bag in hand. “I’ve finally found a nice fancy dress costume for the Halloween party, and thanks to the miracle of industrial-strength spandex, I can actually squeeze my postpartum arse into it. Since the children are bees…”

“I’ve already deduced what it is,” said Sherlock, smugly.

“Really?” said John. “You too?”

“Of course,” said Mycroft.

“Well then, let’s try to keep with the theme.” John hung the bag on the door and then looked at her watch. “Oh, I’m late. I have to pick them up. Bye.” She rushed back down the stairs.

Sherlock and Mycroft looked at one another. Then both inched toward the bag.

“I’m only 67% sure of the colour,” said Sherlock casually.

“We should know the colour. It’s important. To keep with the theme,” said Mycroft.

Sherlock looked away pointedly. Then she raised her hand and unzipped the bag one-third of the way down.

Mycroft glanced at the exposed fabrics. “Gold. With wings,” she pronounced.

“Ah,” said Sherlock, nodding. “A fairy. Well, that decides it. I’ll keep to my original plan.” She re-zipped the bag without looking at it.

“Which is?”

Sherlock smiled and said, “What I was always meant to be.”

* * *

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock turned. Her hair was wrapped in a large red scarf that was tied on one side of her head. She wore a billowing white shirt and black breeches and boots and an eyepatch.

“Hello, my Alpha pirate!” cried John with a grin. She approached Sherlock and licked her lips. Then she stopped short. Her eyes widened at the scabbard that hung from Sherlock’s waist. “Really? It will be mostly children, Sherlock.”

“All the better,” said Sherlock. She drew out the sword. “Are you ready, Tinkerbell?”

John frowned. “Tinkerbell?”

“Ahoy, mateys!”

“Mycroft!” snarled Sherlock.

“Oh my,” said John. Mycroft wore a floppy hat with large plume, long curly wig, frilly white shirt, velvet jacket with brocade trim and, like Sherlock, black breeches and boots. But unlike Sherlock, she had a black moustache. “Captain…”

“Hook,” said Mycroft. She raised her arm and a hook peeked out from the sleeve. “I believe I outrank you, Sherlock. Or should I say, Mister Smee?”

“I am _not_ Mister Smee!” yelled Sherlock, brandishing her sword at Mycroft.

“Put that away, Sherlock. You look wonderful,” said John, giving Mycroft a peck on the cheek.

“You make a very enchanting fairy, my Dear,” replied Mycroft. She bowed and kissed John’s hand.

“I’m not a fairy!”

Mycroft and Sherlock stared at her.

John wore a gold strapless corseted unitard and shimmery tights. Her exposed skin was dusted with glitter. Her hair was coiled in a tight bun and streaked with more glitter. She turned and showed them her gold wings. “I am a _butterfly_. The children are _bees_.”

“But where are…?” protested Mycroft.

John held up a headband with two bobbing antenna. She pushed it onto her head.

“Oh!” said Mycroft. Sherlock glared at her.

Mycroft shrugged. “There’s always something.”

John waved a hand. “No matter. You both look fabulous! Let’s collect our buzzing babies and go have some fun!”

Mycroft and Sherlock groaned.

* * *

“How long have we been here, Sherlock?” John whispered.

“Seventeen minutes and thirty-two seconds.”

“It seems like…”

“An eternity.”

John nodded. “I never knew that children’s parties were so…”

“Horrid?”

“…draining.”

Sherlock produced a silver flask and took a long swig.

“Sherlock!” scolded John.

Sherlock offered the flask to John. John stared at it.

“There’s plenty of frozen milk,” she mumbled. “I’ll pump and dump if I have to.” She took the flask and drank. Then she glanced from it to Sherlock. “Wow! That’s…”

“Rum,” said Sherlock.

“Very nice rum.”

“Pirate,” said Sherlock with a wink.

John smiled. Then she looked across the room. “Oh, I need to go rescue Mycroft!”

* * *

“Kill me now,” said Sherlock under her breath.

“Absolutely not,” replied Mycroft. “Because if I kill you, then I shall still be at this party and you will not and that is unacceptable.”

They both produced flasks and drank. Then they cast sly glances at each other and tucked their flasks away. They looked around the room.

“You know what else is unacceptable?” said Mycroft.

Sherlock nodded. “How long that werewolf has been ogling John’s bottom.” She unsheathed her sword. “I’ll deal with him.”

“Aye, aye, Mister Smee.”

“I am not Mister Smee!”

* * *

“We can’t leave now, Mycroft. We just arrived. It would be rude.”

“No, rude will be the photographs of Vladimir Putin that I shall send to her Majesty—or vice versa—if I don’t get some reprieve from this torture.” She produced a gold flask and took a long swig.

“You too?” whispered John, looking at the flask. Mycroft held it out to her.

John grabbed it and drank. “Holy Mary! That’s not rum!” she said, wiping her mouth.

“Certainly not. Only the most potent of whiskeys is suitably fortifying for this particular endeavour.”

“How long have we been here?” asked John.

“Twenty-six minutes and fifty-five seconds.”

“If we can make it to an hour without you starting a world war or Sherlock challenging anyone to a duel, we’ll say our farewells.”

Mycroft groaned.

* * *

Mycroft and John and Sherlock sat side-by-side-by-side, with vacant looks on their faces.

“Fifty-nine minutes,” said John.

“And thirteen seconds,” said Mycroft and Sherlock. They pulled out their flasks and put them to their lips. They tilted their heads back and then scowled and threw the flasks to the floor of the vehicle.

“Sorry,” said John. “You shouldn’t have shared.”

“Nonsense,” they replied. Each lifted a breeches leg to reveal a leg flask strapped to a calf. They toasted flasks across John and then drank. Then each handed her flask to John, who drank from both.

“Let’s go to yours, Mycroft. Closer,” said John. Then she hiccupped and giggled.

* * *

John and Sherlock stood in the foyer.

Mycroft came down the stairs. “They are under the superior and sober care of the formidable fraulein for the remainder of the evening.”

“Good,” said John. Then she ran a hand down the front of Sherlock’s tunic and reached for Mycroft. She licked her lips and said in a husky voice, “Now tell me this, which one of you will be pillaging and which one will be plundering?”

As Mycroft neared John, she plucked the antenna-ed headband from her hair and let it fall to the floor. Then she said, “I believe, not-Mister-Smee, we have a fairy between us.”

Sherlock bent her head and kissed John’s bare shoulder. “And a very pretty one at that, Captain Pompous-Arse.”

Mycroft brushed the curve of her hooked hand across John’s cheek. “I say we tie her to the mast and persuade her to show us her treasure.”

John groaned.

* * *

John’s head was back, her eyes closed. Her hands were above her head, tied together around one post of a canopied bed.

Sherlock cupped John’s jaw and squeezed hard. John dropped her head and opened her eyes. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and covered the loosely-looped silken cord at John’s wrists with her free hand.

John smirked. “I’m your _willing_ captive, you barbarian.”

Sherlock kissed John’s lips. She licked the side of John’s neck and nipped at her earlobe. “Where is your treasure, magic sprite?”

“Buried deep, deep inside. So deep you may never find it,” replied John.

“We’ll see about that,” said Mycroft. She ran the curve of her hook under John’s chin and down her neck to the swell of her breast. Then she snagged the neckline of the gold bodice and tugged down until John’s nipple sprang free. “Not-Mister-Smee...”

Sherlock latched onto the nub and sucked hard.

John moaned and lifted her chest, eagerly thrusting her breast into Sherlock’s mouth. “More, please, drink it all. Take it, love, oh, oh. Feels so good. Drain me, love.” Sherlock pulled off with a loud pop and growled. Then she yanked the other side of the bodice down and with equal avarice, fed anew.

John’s eyes darted from Sherlock’s hungry lips to the curve of Mycroft’s hook as it began to tease the pebbled bud that Sherlock had just abandoned. Then the hook turned so that it was no longer the curve, but rather pointed tip tracing a faint line where fair skin met deep pink of aureole. It did not cut John, but merely whispered at the possibility of savagery with one careless slight. John sucked in a breath and held it; the razor-sharpness of the hook was only surpassed by the razor-sharpness of Mycroft’s gaze. Finally, the air in John’s lungs began to burn. Mycroft dropped her hooked arm and kissed John’s nipple with a warm, wet mouth.

John exhaled loudly and panted. “Oh, God! That was…”

Mycroft met John’s wide eyes with a shy, crooked smile. “Persuasive?”

Sherlock gave John’s breast a final lick and stepped back. She looked at John, who was still staring at Mycroft with lust-soaked awe. Sherlock’s eyes flashed hotly. “The Captain is needed on the bridge,” she announced, nodding to a settee against the wall. She and Mycroft shared a brief, but brutal, staring contest. Then Mycroft bowed to John and moved backwards while Sherlock advanced.

Sherlock kissed John’s lips and said blithely, “I am going treasure-hunting.” Then she sprang back and before John or Mycroft could voice any alarm, had drawn her sword and slashed the crotch of John’s outfit.

John gasped. Then she spread her feet and looked down. Two layers of fabric were slit wide, but there was not a scratch on her person.

Sherlock beamed. “As I have often said, it is not the size of one’s sword,” she looked over her shoulder and scowled at Mycroft and then turned back, “but the finesse with which one parries and thrusts that matters.”

John giggled and shook her head. “You are _not_ Mister Smee! Come here!”

Sherlock stepped forward. She and John laughed and kissed with lips stretched into wide smiles. Their teeth clacked. “You shan’t distract me from my quest, you tiny-winged temptress,” she said. Then she dropped to her knees and buried her face between John’s legs. She slipped her arms under John’s thighs. John moaned and hooked her legs over Sherlock’s shoulders. Sherlock lifted John’s legs slightly until her feet were off the ground. John arched her back and moaned louder. She looked at Mycroft through half-lidded eyes and said,

“Enjoying the view, Captain?”

“So much so that I must no longer remain a casual observer.” The front of Mycroft’s breeches was wet and the outline of a straining cock was clearly visible through the taut fabric. She stood and moved to John’s side. “She’s tongue-fucking that gorgeous cunt, isn’t she?” she whispered in John’s ear. “You have that wicked look on your face.”

“Yes, yes,” cried John. “So good.” As her chest heaved, her breasts spilled out of the bodice again, and Mycroft gently kneaded the flesh and pinched the nipples until two cloudy drops appeared.

“More powerful than fairy dust,” said Mycroft, licking her finger; then she nibbled at John’s bottom lip. “One sweet kiss, pixie, and you’ll be spilling even more of your luscious treasure all over these two filthy pirates.”

Upon setting John’s feet on the ground, Sherlock kissed up her torso until she was lapping up the spilling drops with a flat tongue. Mycroft sank to the floor and opened John’s legs. John shivered. Mycroft gently, slowly pressed her lips to John’s clit. John cried out and ripped her hands from their loose bonds. She snaked fingers under wig and scarf to grasp at silky dark hair as she bucked into her Alphas’ mouths.

As John’s breathing slowed, Mycroft and Sherlock guided her to the floor. They were all on their knees, inching closer to one another. Mycroft placed John’s hand on the front of her breeches. “I will be ruthlessly pillaging your sweet cunt.”

Sherlock moved behind John, kissing her neck as her hands reached down to rend the slash in John’s costume wider. She freed her cock from the tight breeches and pressed it into John’s cleft, saying, “And I will be plundering your sweet arse.”

John grinned. Then she stuck out her tongue and licked her top and bottom lip lewdly. “And I’ll be sucking those sweet pirate cocks while you take turns prepping me.”

* * *

Mycroft and Sherlock groaned as they both came inside John. The three were arranged precariously on the settee, John straddling Mycroft’s lap and Sherlock slotted behind John. As Sherlock and Mycroft pulled out of her, John’s eyes drifted to the wall.

“John?” Mycroft cast a worried look at Sherlock, who began to run her hands over John’s skin in light, reassuring strokes.

John shook her head. “I’m fine. I know it's not the same, but it made me think of the heat, and,” she looked from Mycroft to Sherlock. “Don’t mind me, just an Omega moment.” Mycroft and Sherlock locked eyes, and then the floor became littered with bits and pieces of costume. Finally, the three stood huddled together, stripped of artifice and pretence.

John brushed Sherlock’s shoulder with her fingers and then rubbed them together, frowning. “Let’s wash this grit off and then rest. I love you both so much. I know you hated it, but thank you for…” Sherlock and Mycroft closed in around her and murmured endearments into her hair.

Then Mycroft broke away, saying, “I’m pulling rank.” She led John by the hand to the adjoining toilet.

When the door shut, Sherlock hung Mycroft’s pirate jacket and hat on the post of the bed. Then she took up her sword and began to do battle with a makeshift Captain Hook. The room filled with noise from next-door, the hiss of the shower and the moans and sighs of coupling. When the clock in the corner chimed, Sherlock gave her opponent one final thrust and return her sword to its scabbard. Then she strode to the door and banged loudly.

The door opened. There was a cloud of steam and John’s needy moan.

“Come, Sherlock.”

* * *

“Come, Sherlock,” said Mycroft. Sherlock tore her eyes from John’s sleeping form. Then she followed Mycroft down the corridor.

* * *

John woke alone. She grabbed the flannel dressing gown at the foot of the bed and wrapped it around herself. Then she tiptoed towards the nursery. She stopped when she heard voices and listened.

_“…and that, my beloveds, is the story of how the beautiful fairy…”_

_“…saved the two sad, angry pirates…”_

_“…and, together, the three wrought the two cleverest…_

_“…most extraordinary…”_

_“…most precious treasures…”_

_“…that world has ever known.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this [funny article](http://vinepair.com/wine-blog/the-amount-of-booze-you-need-to-drink-to-survive-themed-childrens-birthday-parties/?xid=soc_socialflow_facebook_fw) about cocktails and surviving children's parties.

**Author's Note:**

> Very much inspired by [PrettyArbitrary](http://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyArbitrary/pseuds/PrettyArbitrary)'s wonderful [Six](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1487290).


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